The hollow tree stood at the center of the forbidden forest like a gaping mouth of shadows, exhaling a cold, damp draft that smelled of ancient rot and something sickly sweet. Above, the sun was at its zenith, but its light refused to touch the ground here. High Priestess Elara gripped her silver censer, the holy incense swirling around her in a protective, fragrant veil.
"Stay close," she commanded the four temple guards flanking her. Her voice was tight, a sharp contrast to her usual serene tone. "The darkness here... it isn't just an absence of light. It's breathing."
The guards, low-level Paladins in polished silver plate, nodded wordlessly. They descended the obsidian stairs, their boots ringing against the stone like a countdown. As they reached the first landing, the temperature plummeted. The violet mana-light of the walls flickered, casting their shadows long and distorted against the ceiling.
I watched from the observation vents, my [Detection] map glowing with the intensity of Elara's Level 8 soul. She was a sun walking into a cave.
"Now, Silas," I whispered.
The shadows behind the guards didn't just move; they curdled. Before the Paladins could even register the threat, my Imps struck with a savage, silent efficiency. Clawed hands clamped over armored mouths; jagged obsidian blades found the narrow gaps in their gorgets. There were no battle cries—only the muffled, wet thuds of bodies hitting the stone and the sound of them being dragged away into the black vents of the floor.
Elara spun around, her silver-blonde hair whipping through the air. "Mark ? Leo? Where are you!?"
Silence was her only answer. The hallway behind her was empty, the incense from her censer swirling uselessly in the stagnant air. Then, the vents hissed.
The Arousal Mist, pumped to its absolute maximum density, began to pour into the corridor. It wasn't the thin, drifting fog that had broken Marcus; it was a thick, cloying pink haze that smelled like forbidden musk and overripe, bruised fruit. Elara tried to hold her breath, but the mist was predatory. It didn't wait for her to inhale; it soaked into the porous silk of her golden-trimmed robes, clinging to her damp, terrified skin.
"Oh... Goddess..." she gasped, her knees buckling as the first wave hit her.
The holy power she usually felt—the cold, distant light of her deity—was suddenly being drowned out by a violent, internal heat. It felt as if her blood had been replaced by liquid fire. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every time her silk undergarments brushed against her skin, it felt like a jolt of raw electricity. Her face flushed a deep, shameful red, and her breath became a series of ragged, wet pants that echoed off the obsidian walls.
"Holy Father... please... protect..." her prayer died in her throat as she collapsed against the stone. Her fingers, usually folded in pious reflection, began to move of their own accord, clutching at the fabric over her heaving breasts as she struggled to find air that didn't taste of sin.
I stepped out from the shadows at the end of the hallway, my boots echoing like a death knell. Elara looked up, her hair damp with sweat, her eyes hazy, dilated, and pleading.
"Who... what are you doing to me?" she whimpered. Her body arched involuntarily as the mist worked its way into her very core, turning her own nervous system into a weapon against her.
"I'm answering your prayers, Priestess," I said, looking down at the shivering, "pure" woman. "You came here to find the darkness. Well... here I am."
I reached out, my fingers grazing her burning cheek. She let out a soft, broken moan that would have horrified her husband, Kaelen—a sound of pure, carnal surrender that vibrated through the very stones of the dungeon.